


Cumberbunds and Shiners

by GiveALittleRespect



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 10x12 AU, Boys In Love, Cemetery, Enjoy the Adorbs, Husbands, M/M, Mentioned Mandy Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mpreg, Supportive Partners, Talk of Revenge Sex, Terry dies, Wedding Day AU, Wedding Planning, grave desecration, ian is so sweet, mickey has a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:42:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23684077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiveALittleRespect/pseuds/GiveALittleRespect
Summary: A look at wedding preparation if Mickey had been knocked up on their wedding day.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 11
Kudos: 198





	1. Chapter 1

"Good thing we're still doing this today," Mickey grunts, zipping up his tuxedo pants. "One more week and I'd be fucking showing in front of everybody."

Ian brushes a hand over Mickey's stomach. "You look great, really. I can't even tell unless I touch you."

"Touchin' me's what got us into this fucking mess," Mickey says, rolling his eyes. "Keep your damn hands to yourself and give me the cumberbund."

Ian obliges, and Mickey's grateful his monkey suit has a part that hides his bump, small as it still is. 

"Deb's got some concealer if you want to hide your shiner," Ian suggests.

"I'm not wearing makeup," Mickey says flatly. "Might as well just make me wear the fucking gown."

Ian laughs and kisses his cheek. "I'm sorry I'm the reason you've got a black eye--"

"And knocked up."

"And you're knocked up on our wedding day," Ian finishes. "God, that makes me sound like a monster. You should probably run away with your best man while you have the chance."

Mickey shrugs on his jacket. "You had to stop me from killing my dad, which is still going to happen whether we do this or not, for the record. And I bit you, so I kinda deserved it." He looks at Ian's arm. "I didn't break the skin, did I?"

"No, just bruised," Ian replies. "Don't worry about it." 

Mickey's almost done getting dressed except for the bow tie, and he lets Ian do it for him cause he's a dork. Plus, he didn't have time to learn how, with everything else going on.

"You feeling okay?" Ian asks, and Mickey smiles.

"Feelin' great. A little nervous, but no cold feet."

"No nausea, heartburn, headache?"

"I'm fine," Mickey chuckles. "I'm not dying. I'm a little pissed that I can't drink, but neither can you, so we're even."

"I can have one beer," Ian says, but Mickey raises an eyebrow at him. "Okay, fine, no beer. In solidarity with my pregnant husband."

Mickey bites his lip at how hot that word sounds, and Ian smirks when he sees it. If they weren't short on time and had just gotten dressed, Mickey would tear this shit off and do Ian right here and now.

"I'm excited," Ian says, when he's done with Mickey's tie. "Not just about today, but..." He puts his hand on Mickey's stomach, and Mickey holds back all the sarcastic things he wants to say because Ian looks so damn sincere right now. "I can't fucking wait to have a kid with you."

"And you don't gotta," Mickey smirks. "Nice timing with that, Gallagher."

*End*


	2. A Few Weeks Earlier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prelude to "Cumberbunds and Shiners." There will be a third part soon!

"Can you believe Lip's moving to Milwaukee?" Ian says as he and Mickey get ready for bed later.

"What the fuck is even in Milwaukee?" Mickey comments, even though his insides are churning with anticipation because now that they're alone, and together, and fucking engaged, he still has to tell Ian one more thing. 

"Nothing much except Tami, Fred, and her family," Ian replies, taking his shirt off. Mickey would normally just stand there admiring the view, but if he doesn't say this now, he'll lose his nerve. 

"Hey," he says. "I, uh...I gotta tell you something."

Ian hesitates. "If this is about what you and Byron got up to when you were living together, I really don't--"

"No, we never got up to anything!" Mickey says in disgust. "I just said that shit to make you jealous. It was fucking stupid." 

"So, when he was talking about you earlier tonight, that wasn't true?"

Mickey shakes his head. "I told him to say whatever he wanted so you'd pay attention. He did a pretty good job."

Ian blinks, and before he has time to process how Mickey manipulated that whole situation, Mickey tries to salvage the moment by crossing to him and kissing him.

"I love you," he says, and Ian leans his forehead against Mickey's. 

"I love you, too."

Mickey braces himself and looks Ian in the eye. "And I'm pregnant."

Ian's eyes fly wide open. He jerks back so hard that he nearly brains himself on the low ceiling.

"What?" he gasps. "What the fuck, Mickey?"

"I wanted to tell you!" Mickey protests, panicking. "I found out at work after they did some stupid drug test on me, but then we had all that shit with Paula, and then the bitch died and we suspected each other, and then you fucking proposed and I thought 'Maybe this is a good time to tell him,' and then you fucking changed your mind, and--"

Mickey breaks off, feeling like he can't breathe and realizing his blurry vision is due to tears in his eyes. Fucking hormones. 

"What about after we broke up?"

"I didn't want to look like I was tryin' to trap you with a kid."

"I would never think that." Ian hobbles over and puts his arms around Mickey. Mickey lets himself relax and return the hug, but after a minute Ian pulls back. 

"How far along are you, anyway? You started work a while ago."

"About eight, nine weeks?" Mickey says with a shrug. "Figured it was the last time we banged before you got out of prison."

Ian huffs out an incredulous laugh. "Holy fuck, I don't believe it."

"Yeah, I told you we needed more condoms," Mickey says, half joking. "So...look, we just got back together, we don't need to do this right now. If you don't want this kid, then--"

"Wait a second," Ian says, gripping Mickey's shoulders. "What do you want?"

Mickey's had time to think, so he tells the truth.

"I want your kid," Mickey replies. "I want a little ginger rugrat who's just as annoying as you, because that I know how to handle."

Ian's smile covers his whole face. 

"I want that, too."

***

Mickey throws himself into planning a wedding as elegant and classy as possible, because he's already decided he is not walking down the aisle fat. Which means they have about two weeks--maybe three--to pull this off.

Sandy just smirks when he tells her what the rush is.

"That explains why you've been extra bitchy," she says. He flips her off and goes back to looking up local caterers. 

"Is it true you held Terry at gunpoint earlier?" she asks after a minute. 

"Yeah. So?"

"Pretty badass maternal instincts you got there." 

"You're uninvited," Mickey snaps, and she rolls her eyes. 

"Sorry." She resumes calling florists who don't discriminate for bullshit homophobic reasons. In between calls, she glances at him.

"Seriously, congratulations. You're gonna be good dads."

***

As excited as he is about the kid and Ian being on board with it, Mickey has to compartmentalize when it comes to wedding planning. That takes precedence over everything, especially with Terry waiting to strike again at any moment. 

But just when he's thinking that if he has to try to make a seating chart one more fucking time he's going to lose his shit, some random guy comes over to them at the Alibi and starts playing Mickey's favorite song on a guitar...just like he wanted.

He meets Ian's eyes, takes his hands, and feels all the stress melt out of him. It may only be a temporary reprieve, but God, does he need it.

He puts the wedding stuff aside for the rest of the night, and they walk home with Ian's arm around his shoulders and his arm around Ian's waist. 

"You can let me do more," Ian says as they approach the Gallagher house. "With the planning, I mean. I don't know a lot about it, but I know you and what you like. Just tell me what you need and I'll figure it out, okay?"

Mickey sighs, leaning into him. "Yeah, I know. I've been a fucking--what's the word? Groomzilla?" 

They both laugh. 

"It's the hormones," Mickey says wryly, scraping a thumb against his forehead. "One minute I'm okay, the next minute a fucking chair makes me want to kill somebody." He glances at Ian. "I don't want you to think that matters more than you and me. I know it's just chairs and flowers and shit, but..."

"You don't have to explain," Ian says. He cups a hand around the back of Mickey's head. "I was at your first wedding. If you want ours to be as different from that as possible, I get it."

Mickey smiles.

"But you've got something else in the works," Ian says, and Mickey rolls his eyes when Ian slips a hand down to his stomach, like he loves to do. "You're growing our kid, and that takes a lot of energy. So let me handle a few things, okay? Just to ease the load." 

"Not gonna break," Mickey mutters. "It's just venues and decorations and food and getting the right color ribbons for the chairs, and--"

"Mick."

Okay, maybe he has a point. 

"Fine, you can deal with the ribbons," Mickey says, too tired to continue this conversation. "I'll just gestate for a while."

Ian laughs again and kisses his forehead. "Sounds good to me."

**TBC**


	3. A Few Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry dies, Mickey goes through the stages of grief, and revenge is discussed.

When Sandy calls and tells him that Terry's dead--of the fucking flu, no less--he thinks she's joking. 

"Really?"

"Really. One of his friends came by to borrow a gun and found him dead. Said he'd had trouble breathing for a few days, but didn't want to go to the hospital."

Mickey's sitting at the tiny kitchen table, breakfast forgotten, trying to process what she's telling him. 

"So...he's really dead? Like, medically certified, body in the morgue getting colder by the minute dead?"

Sandy laughs. "Yeah, dumb-ass. His asshole friends are holding a funeral service next week. I'm betting only five or six people even show up." 

Ian's walked in by now, staring at Mickey. He mouths "Who died?" and Mickey raises his eyebrows at him like "Who do you fucking think?"

"Seriously?" he says, smiling like he can't help it. And Mickey doesn't care, he'd like to be smiling right now, too. Maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet. 

"Hey, is Ian there? Tell him ding dong, the fucker's dead!" Sandy says cheerfully. "I'm guessing you're not gonna be at the funeral?"

"No fucking way," Mickey says automatically, cause he made up his mind a long time ago to spend the entire week celebrating when Terry finally kicked the bucket. "Uh, look, I gotta go, but...thanks for telling me, Sands."

"My pleasure."

***

Mickey spends the rest of the week going through what some might call the five stages of grief.

Denial means calling everyone who knows his dad to see if this is actually true. Most of them don't pick up, but the ones that do confirm it. The guy's dead. Deceased. Gone. Probably in Hell by now, if that place really exists. 

Anger is when Ian tries to get him to talk about how he's feeling, and Mickey yells at him that he's fine, he's not upset, he's wanted this for years so he's over the fucking moon about it, and then he's yelling about all the reasons his father deserved to die, and Ian just sits there and lets him do that until he runs out of breath. 

Bargain is weird. Mickey keeps having thoughts like What if I'd killed him first? and What if I'd run away with Mom? keep going through his head. All these "what-if" scenarios are useless, because what's done is done and he can't go back in time to change anything.

Depression...isn't really what Mickey feels when it sinks in that he'll never see his dad alive again. He feels relieved. He doesn't have to look over his shoulder anymore. He doesn't have to block his number so Terry can't send him threatening texts. Mickey and Ian could have sex in the middle of the goddamn street and never have to worry about anyone telling Terry about it. No more drive-by shootings (well, okay, there was only the one, but still) or burning down buildings. No further need to only tell the Gallaghers, Kev, Vee, Mandy and Sandy about the pregnancy, for fuck's sake. Terry can't hurt their kid. He can't hurt anyone anymore.

Acceptance is tricky. Every time Mickey lets himself start to be happy that his dad is dead, he worries that maybe it's all a trap--maybe the few family members who were still scared of him are waiting for a chance to pounce. Maybe they're going to fulfill what was probably Terry's last wish and bash Mickey's brains out when he least expects it. 

He'll kill them all in self-defense if he has to. He just doesn't want to have to. He's tired of this shit. All he wants is a regular fucking existence--just him and Ian in their own place, a steady job with full medical, and their kid growing up in a safer neighborhood. 

If he wasn't pregnant, he'd go to his old house and tell whoever answered the door to just get the fag-bashing over with. But even though the instinct is still there, he can't drag his kid into this, and he won't. If they want him, they're gonna have to find him. And he's not going to make it easy.

So he packs heat everywhere he goes, even to the grocery store. He tells his boss that he has some people looking for him, and she goes all Mama Bear and promises to scare away anyone besides Ian who asks after him. He appreciates the support, even if it's a little embarrassing. He was never the kind of person to ask for backup. He learned at any early age that if you got fists, use 'em, cause heroes don't exist and nobody's going to help you unless you help yourself. 

It might have been the one not-completely-shitty lesson Terry taught him in his whole life. 

The day of the funeral, Mickey and Ian have a lot of sex "in memory" of Terry, but avoid even saying his name, like he's Voldemort or something. Terry didn't leave a will, so there's no inheritance to worry about (Mickey wouldn't take a fucking dime from him anyway, and the government can have all his drugs and guns and shit.) Sandy steals as much as she can from the house before Mickey's cousins clean it out, and gives him an envelope full of cash the next time she comes over.

"It's for baby stuff," she says when he tries to give it back. "Or for a nanny, cause I'm not gonna be your babysitter. I got shit to do."

"Speaking of which, how's Debbie?" Mickey fires back. 

"Hasn't knocked me up yet," Sandy smirks. "So I'd say we're good."

***

Of course, someone would find him when he least expects it. 

He's on his lunch break at the Food Court waiting for Ian, but way too hungry not to start eating before he gets here. He's been craving chicken wings with barbecue sauce all day, and now they're finally right in front of him. This kid's already got good taste.

Just as he's dipping a wing in the sauce, he spots Iggy walking toward him. 

He freezes. It's not that Iggy's a bad guy, just kind of a terminal idiot who would do anything for a few bucks. Whether that includes trying to injure Mickey in public remains to be seen. 

Mickey slowly puts his food down, pushes the tray away, and leans back in his chair. His hand creeps over his bump unconsciously. I got this, he finds himself thinking. He's not gonna hurt you.

"Hey, Mick," Iggy says, approaching the table. His eyes go wide when he gets a good look at his brother. "Whoa. I heard you were knocked up, but...wow, man."

If he goes any further with that, Mickey's going to break his entire face.

"Thanks, Iggy," he says tightly. "Now why the fuck are you here?"

"Easy," Iggy says, holding his hands up. "I just wanted to check on you. Sandy said you were worried Terry's buddies might be looking for you."

"Yeah, so? Are they?" 

"I dunno."

"Oh, that's a relief," Mickey says sardonically. "Big help as always, Igs."

"Hey, don't get mad at me," Iggy snaps. "I went to Dad's funeral and said a few words like a decent fucking person. You didn't even show up."

"Cause he wanted me dead!" Mickey fires back. "Or were you still in Moose-Fuck, Canada when he threatened to kill me for marrying Ian? Or when he burned down our fucking wedding venue, or when he shot at us through the hotel window on our honeymoon?"

Iggy's eyes get even wider. "Wait...he did all that?"

So he didn't know. 

"Yeah," Mickey says, appetite lost after recounting the greatest hits of Terry for his asswipe brother. 

"Shit, man," Iggy says, sitting down in the chair across from him. "I'm sorry."

"Not like you had anything to do with it," Mickey sighs, feeling drained. "We had a great wedding anyway. You woulda liked it."

Iggy smiles. "Sandy showed me the pictures. You looked really happy."

Mickey can't help but smile back. "I was. Am. I love Ian."

"Congrats on the kid, too," Iggy adds, swiping a chicken wing right off Mickey's tray. "That why you guys got married so fast? No judgment, I'm pretty sure Mom was pregnant when--"

"Iggy?!"

Mickey turns around to see Ian behind him, looking surprised. He glances at Mickey, and Mickey nods to confirm that it's okay. 

"Hey, man!" Iggy says, getting up to give Ian an awkward half-hug. "Welcome to the family! Did you take our last name or is he a Gallagher now?"

"Uh," Ian says, sitting down next to Mickey. "We're kind of just keeping our names."

"That's cool," Iggy says, reaching for more of Mickey's lunch. Mickey yanks the tray out of his reach and quickly starts eating. "Any idea what you're gonna name the kid?"

"Definitely not Ignatio," Mickey replies around a mouthful. "How many times did you get your ass kicked for that?"

"I dunno, Mikhailo, how many times did you get your ass kicked?" 

Mickey flips him off.

"Well, I gotta go. Good seeing you guys, and Mick? If anyone gives you any trouble, just stop by the house and let me know. I've got friends down at the docks who can make anyone back off."

Mickey blinks. Iggy was always the type to keep his head down and stay out of his siblings' business. Seeing him like this, without Terry looming over them, is refreshing. Even kind of comforting. 

"Thanks, Iggy," Mickey says sincerely. 

"Yeah, thanks," Ian echoes. 

Iggy shrugs. "You know, Terry would've hated seeing you guys like this." He chuckles. "You should go take a dump on his grave, Mick."

"Ay, get outta here," Mickey scoffs as Ian hides a laugh. 

"I'm gonna get some food," he says, kissing his cheek. Mickey goes back to his lunch and chews thoughtfully, mulling over Iggy's parting remark.

He's not going to take a shit on Terry's grave. That's disgusting. Pissing on it might be better, but...it doesn't seem like enough.

He watches Ian pay for his lunch, and as soon as he turns to walk back to their table, Mickey realizes what he wants to do. What Terry deserves to have someone do to his final resting place.

The only thing he has to do now is convince Ian to go along with it. 

And seeing as how he married a Gallagher, that won't be much of a problem.

***

"You want to what?" 

"Oh, like you never thought about it!" Mickey says a little defensively. "C'mon, it's perfect!"

Ian shakes his head. "I once had to help my family dig up our mom just to get meth out of her coffin. Fucking in a graveyard never really had any appeal for me after that." 

"Okay, that's fucked up, but we're not gonna dig up his corpse. I'm just talking about us goin' at it bent over the headstone. We don't even have to go more than two rounds."

"Jesus!" Ian sits back in his chair, staring at Mickey. "You realize if we get caught, we're going right back to prison?"

"So we don't get caught!" Mickey protests. "Sack the fuck up, Gallagher!"

Ian massages his forehead for a few seconds. "Okay. Okay, fine, we can do it sometime. Maybe when you're not pregnant anymore and--"

"Excuse me?" 

Ian blinks. "Well, I mean, won't it be a little awkward if--"

"I'm not in a fucking wheelchair," Mickey snarls. "And if I recall, you have absolutely no problem bending me over the sink, the bed, the couch, the kitchen table--"

"Mickey, there are kids nearby!" Ian hisses, glancing around them. Mickey shrugs. 

"My point is, I'm just as flexible as I was before. Just with a gut."

Ian's shoulders slump, and he looks resignedly at his husband. "You really want to do this?"

"Damn straight I do. I need closure, and I want to get it shooting my wad all over my homophobic shithead of a dad's headstone while my husband fucks me like a five-dollar whore."

Ian drops his head, but Mickey can tell he's trying not to laugh. 

"Okay," he says, looking up. "Okay, let's do it."

Mickey smiles. "I love you."

Ian picks up his sandwich. "Love you, too."

***

Their work schedules keep them pretty busy the rest of the week, and Mickey's tired enough by Friday night that he doesn't relish the idea of going all the way to the cemetery first thing Saturday morning. 

Instead, they do their usual routine of pancake breakfast while watching TV, Ian tidying up while Mickey loads the dishwasher, and then a shower together. 

Mickey's busy teasing Ian's hair into shampoo spikes when the baby starts kicking like she wants to join the party. He chuckles and puts Ian's hand on his bump.

"Think she likes this."

Ian goes all doe-eyed, like he thinks this is some kind of fucking miracle.

"I can't wait to meet her," he murmurs, sliding his hands over Mickey's belly. "Can't believe we're halfway there already."

"Feels like a long-ass time," Mickey sighs. The prospect of four and a half more months of this is exhausting--when it's not terrifying. "And she's probably gonna be a giant like you."

Ian leans in to kiss him and rinse his hair in the shower spray simultaneously. 

"I was a short kid, if that helps."

"I remember," Mickey replies, running his hand through Ian's hair to get the last of the shampoo out. "You've been taller than me since I was ten. Kept wondering when we'd be the same height again, but that didn't happen."

Ian grins at him. "Maybe you should try wearing heels."

"Fuck you," Mickey retorts, shoving him playfully against the wall of the shower. Only Ian's allowed to make short jokes at his expense. 

"So, you want to go to the cemetary tomorrow?" Ian asks later as they're getting dressed. Mickey hesitates, having almost forgotten about his plan. 

"Yeah, I guess. Sometime when nobody's around. Say, seven?"

"Morning or evening?" 

Mickey scoffs. "Evening. I'm not gettin' up early for that."

"You're sure you still want to do this? We really don't have to--"

"I want some fucking closure," Mickey interrupts. "Like, literal fucking closure. That too much to ask?"

"No, but, Mick--"

"You hated him, too," Mickey huffs. 

"Yeah, but--"

"But what, Ian?" 

Ian looks at him, jaw working silently before he speaks. 

"But I love you more than I hate him."

Mickey wasn't expecting that, and it throws him for a second. 

"Okay," he says, at a loss for how to respond. He's really not in the mood for romantic shit right now, as much as he knows Ian means every word of it. This isn't about love. This is about getting a little of their own back, about showing Terry that he can't win and never did. 

"So does that mean you don't wanna do this?" Mickey says finally. "You can be the fucking lookout or whatever, but I'm going to that asshole's grave and I'm desecrating the shit out of it with or without your help."

"Of course I'll go with you," Ian sighs. "I just hope this helps."

***

Funny thing is, as soon as he sees the gravestone in all it's ugly granite glory, the last thing Mickey feels like is grabbing Ian and fucking him. 

"Gimme a minute," he says, and Ian hangs back as Mickey walks over to stand in front of the grave.

He's pictured this a million times. He's imagined doing everything from dancing on the grave to defacing it with a can of spray paint, to screaming everything he never had the balls to say to his father's face at the headstone, but now that it's real and he's here and Terry's never going to hear or see him do any of that...he doesn't know what he wants to do.

The longer he stares at the damn thing, the angrier he gets. It's like he's choking, and he struggles to find some way to verbalize what he's feeling. He's not good at that, he never has been. And it's all thanks to this motherfucker in the ground under his feet. 

"I was three years old when you told me to stop fucking crying," Mickey says out loud, startling himself. "My hand was bleeding, and you just told me to stop crying. I wanted Mom, I wanted someone to just make it stop hurting, but all you did was shove me away." He rubs his hand over his mouth, not even sure why he's remembered that now. 

"Then, when I was five and you found out I'd been feeding that stray cat, you told me you'd shoot it if it came back. I stopped putting out food, but the stupid thing came back one last time, and you--" Mickey blinks, hard. "You fucking shot it right in front of me. You made me bury it in the yard." Mickey looks up, away, anywhere but at the stone. "You wouldn't let me cry then, either."

Now that he's letting himself remember, he can't seem to stop. "Seven years old, you told me there was no Santa and I wasn't good enough for presents, anyway. Eight, you wouldn't let me play with my friend Kevin cause he had two moms, and you said he was a fairy who'd turn me gay, too. When I was ten, I spent the entire year in foster care in some shitty house with five other kids, and every day I hoped you weren't coming back because I was happier there than I was with you."

His eyes are stinging, but he keeps going. "When I was thirteen, you know my friend Matt? We used to jerk each other off in his bedroom. And it felt great. I told him not to tell anyone, but he told his sister, and I don't know how you heard about it, but I remember you holding a gun to my head and telling me that unless I wanted my brains all over the wall, I'd better cut that shit out and start fucking girls."

He knows he could stand here all day, going through the worst of his memories, but he's starting to feel like there's something he's been trying to say all along and he's just not there yet.

"Everyone I knew had shitty dads," he says, voice breaking. "But no one's dad pulled the kind of shit you did. Nobody got a hooker to fuck their kid in front of them. Nobody made them marry and have a kid with that hooker. Nobody else's sister had to lock her door every night, either." He swallows hard. "Think I didn't know about that? Mandy told me it was just a couple of times, but fucking Christ, what was wrong with you?" 

He honestly didn't mean to scream that last part, and he can hear Ian approach, but he waves him away because he is not done, not yet. 

"You never should have had us!" Mickey keeps on, not even caring who hears him. "I wish you'd never been my dad! I would have been better off--all of us would have--if you hadn't been!" He's sobbing now, and he hates it, he hates losing control like this, but he also feels like he can finally say what he came here to say.

"I'm not gonna be like you," he chokes out, shaking all over just like the night he came out to the entire Southside. "I wasn't great with Yevgeny, but I never hurt him. He was just a kid. I would have killed somebody before I let them hurt him." 

He takes a breath, then another one. "And guess what? I'm having another kid, with Ian. She's gonna be the first Milkovich in our family who never has to be afraid of you. Because you can't hurt her, and there's nothing--nothing you can do to us anymore--"

Mickey's not sure if he stumbles or almost passes out, but the next second, Ian's got his arm around him, holding him steady while Mickey presses his face into his shoulder, shaking and crying harder than he has in years. 

It feels like hours later, but finally he's cried himself out. The two of them end up leaning against another grave, staring at Terry's. 

Ian's combing Mickey's hair through his fingers. "You okay?"

Mickey has his eyes closed, leaning his weight against Ian's side. "Mm."

"Does that mean yes or no?"

"Means I'm tired," Mickey mumbles. "I don't know about okay."

"Want to go home? It's getting late."

Mickey nods. He doesn't want to be here anymore, and the way he's feeling right now, he could sleep for a week. 

"You got anything you want to say to him?" he asks Ian.

Ian smiles. "Nah, I'm good. That was everything he deserved to hear."

Mickey rubs his eyes. "It was all your fuckin' fault."

Ian looks startled. "What was?"

"That shit you said earlier," Mickey says vaguely. "About loving me more than you hated him. Got in my head." 

"Mick..."

"It's okay," Mickey looks at him. "I thought I just wanted to get revenge on the fucker, but...I don't need to. We don't need to. We already got it."

Ian, always a big ol' sap, links their hands and rests them on Mickey's belly. "Yeah, we did."

Mickey rolls his eyes and nudges him. "A'ight, shut up and let's go. It's cold out here."

"Hey," Ian says when they're on their feet again. "I'm proud of you, Mick. For all that stuff you said."

"And for not making you fuck me in a graveyard?" Mickey can't help attempting to joke, but there's not much levity behind it. 

"Maybe a little," Ian says with a half-smile. 

***

"Jesus Christ," Mickey says two days later, when an unknown number sends his phone a picture. "Ian, look."

Ian tilts Mickey's phone toward him. "Holy fuck. Who did that?"

Mickey can think of at least ten likely suspects off the top of his head, five of whom share Ian's last name. But who the fuck would demolish Terry's headstone? 

"You didn't tell Lip or Carl or anyone we were goin' up there, did you?" Mickey asks. Ian shakes his head. 

"No way. They would've wanted to come with us if they had something like that in mind. Sandy?"

Mickey frowns. "Not unless she's been hitting the gym lately."

His phone buzzes again, and it's another picture. He bursts out laughing when he sees it. 

"Fuckin' A! Look!" 

It's a selfie of Mandy standing next to the broken headstone, leaning on a sledgehammer and smiling widely. 

A text comes through: "RIP, Dad! Love, Mandy."

"We're totally naming our kid after her," Mickey grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to have this be a "Gallavich get revenge on Terry" chapter, but I wanted to show how they've started to move past being afraid of Terry, and Mickey had a lot to get off his chest, so I let him do that instead. But I was happy to let Mandy have her own catharsis, too. I miss her. 
> 
> ETA: I've tried, but the story doesn't seem to want to provide a good epilogue, so just imagine that Ian and Mickey had a beautiful baby and lived happily ever after like they so deserve. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy and thanks for reading!


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